Jacta Alea Est The Die is Cast
by Vecturist
Summary: During an apparently routine trading mission, Teyla realizes the hard way that things have changed during the last few years.


Title: Jacta alea est - The Die is Cast (The three years of Latin in high school have to count for something)

Author: Vecturist

Words: About 3100

Rating: K+

Summary: Dealing with old trading partners forces Teyla to realize how much things have changed.

Spoilers – Nothing major, but passing references to 'Rising,' 'Underground' and 'Coup d'etat'

Archive: Just ask.

A/N: This fic was inspired by Kodiak's 'The Bad Man' and a discussion of how certain characters have evolved and changed over the last two seasons. Beckett and Weir were of course brought up, but I commented very few writer's have addressed how Teyla's changed, so that got me writing – especially since I have trouble writing Teyla's character and I think this is the longest one shot I've written (ok, it's long for me). So after several attempts and some encouragement and pointers from Kodiak (huge thanks!) this is the end result. I'm still not sure if I'm happy with it.

Teyla continued to be amazed that some of those who were descended from the Ancestors, despite all their technology, were nervous traveling through the Stargate. She was even more surprised to learn that the existence of a stargate was a closely guarded secret on their world. Even Colonel Sheppard himself, despite his obvious ability in activating the relics the Ancestors left behind, did not know about it, until shortly before his people came to Atlantis. Surely a place free of the Wraith would encourage travel, but perhaps there was no need. Dr. Weir had attempted to explain about the multitude of cultures back on earth and that the Stargates, the existence of the Ancestors and who they were, and several other things Teyla's people took as routine, could completely alter many long standing beliefs, and perhaps even lead to war. True, the Athosians had encountered a few worlds where such beliefs were so disparate from their own, but not in the numbers Dr. Weir described. She slowly came to understand the concept of countries as Dr. Weir called them, and the pride people ascribed to their place of origin and what the curious patches or 'flags' represented. Trying to understand that the people on Atlantis represented a small percentage of these 'countries' continued to boggle her imagination – no one in the Pegasus galaxy could conceive of a colony of more than a few thousand souls, such was the legacy of the Wraith.

She had also never thought that her people would have chosen to give up their semi-nomadic lifestyle and become farmers. For generations her people had traveled, trading and hunting as they went, never comfortable to settle for more than a season or two in one place. How much of a choice had it really been, either before or after she had met Colonel Sheppard? When the Wraith attacked, they had followed Colonel Sheppard's people back through the Ring, to the City of the Ancestors. The days and weeks following had been somewhat of a turbulent time, presenting a new set of uncertainties. For a people given to wandering, nights without stars to sight by were more than a little disconcerting. Then there was the question of the question of loyalty, when some of the members of the expedition from Earth had questioned her people's allegiances. Only someone not from this galaxy could question one's loyalty to one's people. To betray one's kinsmen to the Wraith was unthinkable. Everyone she knew on Athos and other worlds had lost someone to the Wraith. Even if two peoples might disagree over some matter, the threat of the Wraith still bound them all, gave them some commonality.

To this day, she was still surprised that her people had chosen to settle on the mainland, almost completely cut off from the Stargate, embarking on a new way of life. Maybe it was the influence from those now inhabiting the city. If they could risk everything, surely her people could as well. Perhaps it was a chance to work with those who were the best hope of defeating the Wraith. All she knew was there had been numerous discussions, ones that she had not been invited to participate in, despite being the one who always spoke for her people. At what moment had they begun distancing themselves from her? Surely living in the shadow of the Ancestor's city and the technology brought by these people outweighed what they had given up? At times she felt caught between two worlds, and she knew which one was winning. Halling spent more time overseeing day-to-day activities on the mainland; her trips were fewer and shorter. She still chastised herself for not knowing of Charin's condition until the end. Had she been blind or had it been kept from her, so as not to interfere with her perceived other concerns?

Teyla shook her head and turned her thoughts to matters at hand. Today they were visiting the Torulae, people her father frequently traded with. Although farmers, they rotated the seasons at various sites on the planet, both for the potential protection and to expand the numbers of crops they could produce. Their leader Hariq had always had a kind word for her, and at one point there had been discussion of marriage between her and one of his sons, Martoc. It seemed like a lifetime ago and she smiled to herself as she turned to help Dr. McKay, struggling with his pack and equipment. They had promised help with repairing some of their farming and milling tools in exchange for various foodstuffs. Dr. McKay had grumbled about his genius being billed out as the Pegasus galaxy's 'fix it man' until she added that the Torulae grew something equivalent to coffee. That had swayed his opinion quickly, although she didn't understand Colonel's Sheppard's comment that back on Earth, Rodney's coffee habit must have supported several small countries.

"Are you sure we shouldn't be taking the puddlejumper," asked Rodney nervously, as he double-checked everything. She initially assumed he was worried about the possibility of a lengthy hike. "I may be addicted to coffee, but there are certain limits to how far I'm willing to go, unless they have a Starbucks, or maybe a Peets."

She'd have to ask Colonel Sheppard what Starbucks and Peets were. She'd heard many people in Atlantis use those names, almost reverentially and she knew that regular shipments of coffee were one of the things McKay was most grateful for with the regular Daedalus runs. "No, Dr. McKay at this time of year, they will be tending the fields nearest the Stargate. It is risky, given the opportunities for the Wraith to attack, but I have always been told that the soil there is especially good for growing certain important crops. We will exchange pleasantries and they will send a small portion of the goods we agree upon as a token of the exchange. If we come expecting much, it would appear rude, but there is always the possibility we may need to return with a jumper to collect the remainder." She didn't want to think they had been victims of a recent culling and all they could spare was a token amount. Still, she appreciated Dr. Weir's sentiments about trading with other worlds, even on the occasions there was precious little to trade. Dr. McKay, however, seemed to still have his concerns, and she would admit, they were not always unfounded, as she understood the deeper intent of his question.

"I have known and traded with these people my whole life. Their leader is a fair and reasonable man. At one time, he and my father discussed a possible betrothal between myself and his eldest son." She blushed slightly at this last sentence, and praised the Ancestors that McKay had the grace to blush as well. Arranged pairings were something not discussed openly, she gathered, judging by the reaction, or that she had shared something so personal. Even Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Weir, despite how closely she worked with them, knew little about her life before their arrival. She realized that Ronon had entered the gateroom during this discussion and he gave her a sympathetic nod. Despite what she gathered from his few mentions of Sateda, that his world seemed larger and more advanced than hers, there were still many things that they gave the two of them more in common than the other members of this team. She was, however, grateful that Colonel Sheppard had not heard about her proposed betrothal. He might not say anything, but there would always be an unspoken question or two.

She was grateful that Hariq and his sons were there to greet them and that they had survived the recent cullings, although she detected a new wariness amongst those greeting them. Despite the relationships between their two peoples going back several generations, there was a subtle coolness in the initial greeting. The Torulae gave the clothing she wore a critical appraisal, disappointment tingeing their expressions as they compared her equipment to that worn by Dr. McKay and Colonel Sheppard. Still they were formally welcomed with open arms, the old greeting 'Everything of ours is yours,' repeated several times especially to Ronon and herself. The Torulae had heard of Sateda and their warriors and soon Ronon and Hariq's sons were engaged in the particularly male sport of 'one upsmanship,' and demanding to know all he had seen, leaving Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay standing somewhat awkwardly on the fringes.

"Hariq, it is good to see you and know you are well. We have witnessed the culling of many worlds, and feared for you," she embraced him warmly.

"We have been fortunate so far. Still word has spread of what has been happening and we live under a dark cloud. Fewer people have contacted us for trade in the last few seasons, so we welcome you," Hariq responded carefully. Perhaps a little too carefully, to her ears. "Your people are well?"

"Yes. We have attempted to take up your lifestyle and begun growing some crops. Not as well as you, however." She attempted to make light of her statement as she notices Hariq frowning. The Torulae have been known for the diversity of their crops and lack of competition concerning their ability to grow almost anything. "The Colonel and Dr. McKay are particularly interested in your arabicae crop. Dr. McKay seems to consider it something necessary for life."

Hariq let out a small chuckle, "Many others do as well. Come we must talk. Surely you remember Martoc?" His son, hearing his name, broke from his conversation with Ronon and embraced her, a few moments longer than some would deem necessary. She noticed jealousy flare briefly across the Colonel's face, before being replaced by his usual smirk. Hariq lead her around their current settlement, pointing out various items of interest. Their crops were thriving and those in the population she recognized appeared well. McKay made short work of the repairs needed and even managed to remain pleasant; although she was not sure whether a slap to the back of the head from the Colonel or a small female audience were more responsible. With the repairs complete, Hariq called them in for a dinner to celebrate new and renewed ties. She relaxed in the company and was soon wrapped up in catching on various bits of news that she did not see the conspiring looks exchanged on the other side of the table. Drink flowing freely, and even Ronon was initially oblivious to the emerging conspiracy, his attention ensnared by several people appearing to hang on his every word, as he recounted what he had done, particularly during his time as a runner.

"Well, they at least let us finish the entrée," snarled McKay wresting her attention from Hariq's oldest son, intent on renewing a few ties of his own.

"That's a first," agreed Sheppard. Both men had unceremoniously been hauled to their feet, knives at their throats, like animals ready for the slaughter.

"What about the toast, not a few hours old," she calmly asked, rising to search the eyes of one of her father's oldest friends. Ronon joined her, as additional hands grabbed for both of them, pulling them from the table, and away from the Colonel and Dr. McKay. She witnessed knives drawn tighter against flesh, in either fear or desperation, most likely some of both.

"How do you live with them? Dress like one of them? Hire yourself out to them," Hariq speaks venomously, implying the unmentionable, that she is a consort to those she works with. "Have you forgotten all that your father has taught you? They are responsible for awakening the Wraith and have the impudence to live in the City of the Ancestors," spat Hariq with cold fury in his voice, cutting sharper than any knife. Several around him concurred, voices swirling in agreement. Teyla, for one of the few moments in her life is at a loss for what to say or do.

"They are also our best hope for defeating the Wraith, regardless of what may have happened," she says simply. "Some, like Colonel Sheppard are descendents of the Ancestors. The city responds to them like no one else." She does not deny Atlantis still stands, for apparently Hariq has been informed otherwise, or sees through the lies. She desperately wants to make him believe they are on the cusp of something, a turning point in the battle, something she wishes her father were alive to witness.

The looks Hariq and Martoc give her imply her last statement is pure heresy, that her father would cast her out in shame if present. Hariq hasn't finished, however. "Those worlds that are not destroyed by the Wraith, they destroy by interference. We have heard from Hoff and from the Genii. What right do they have?" The tone in his voice conveys that there will be no negotiation and she suddenly fears blood will be spilt. Before she can think of anything, she and Ronon are roughly hauled to one hut and apparently McKay and Sheppard are led somewhere else, McKay's protests silenced by a blow, she hears several yards away, wincing in sympathy. Sheppard appears defiant, but the questions in his eyes call out to her. It has been a long time since she felt so confused and betrayed.

Hands bound, both she and Ronon are left alone for a time. Ronon, as usual, says nothing, trying to assess the situation, and silently working to loosen his bonds. Hariq suddenly appears in the darkness, squatting in font of her. "Teyla. I consider you a daughter. Reconsider your decision. If your people wish to farm, they are welcome to join us. We will embrace them as family, as long lost siblings. Your friend, Ronon, is welcome here as well, or wherever he may choose to go." She can tell he has been rehearsing this speech, deliberating over his decision.

"And my friends? Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay?" she demands, almost afraid to know the answer.

"They are not your friends, Teyla. Do you not understand the destruction they have brought? We have lost many of our trading partners to the Wraith. The Genii threaten many others. We can survive this way, but not for long. The crops will rot in the field and we lack many other essentials. If the Genii persist, we are as good as finished by the Wraith."

"So you're giving them to the Genii?" She notes the fanatic expression in Hariq's eyes.

"They have promised us protection if the Wraith come. They believe, I believe the Genii have the means and information to defeat the Wraith for all time." Teyla shakes her head sadly. The man she once regarded as a second father will not understand what she has witnessed, does not understand what he is saying. He sees her refusal.

"Teyla," Hariq makes on last plea, then seems to change his mind, leaving, most likely to revise plans. For a moment she is not sure what to think. Did he simply expect her to agree, even though they both must realize that things can never be as they once were, no matter what is sacrificed, especially even when it is friendship, the most valued of all? She concentrates on loosening her bonds, agonizing in silence for a few moments before she realizes that Ronon is already free, grateful that he has allowed her to focus her anger on something other than the upcoming battle ahead.

They leave the hut, and for a long pause no one moves to intercept them as they head towards Sheppard and McKay, apparently being readied for the trade to the Genii. McKay already possesses numerous bruises and appears sullen, giving her angry looks, holding her accountable. Sheppard manages a sympathetic glance, for once again finding friends now turned against her, secrets brought to light. She clings to the flimsy notion that no one will stop them, a hope that quickly evaporates as she sees weapons drawn. She tenses, not yet willing to confront her former trading partners, daring someone else to make the first move, to shatter the uneasy silence. Martoc decides, initially holding a sword to the Colonel's thought and she finds herself battling the man she had once hoped to share a wedding bed with an unexpected ferocity, plunging a knife into his side. The hurt and surprise in his eyes speak volumes as he momentarily drops his sword, he never expected her not to be fighting on his side.

Ronon cuts the ropes binding the Colonel and Dr. McKay, handing them their weapons he has somehow manage to locate. They must fight their way to the Stargate, battling people armed with swords, knives and makeshift weapons. For a moment she is glad they do not have the more advanced firearms of the Genii, apparently confident that the she and Ronon would choose to stay. Still it flavors the fight with a peculiar bittersweetness, making it difficult to fight someone with primitive implements, not wanting to kill, yet conscious of the wounds they can still inflict. And fight both groups do, her team paying with blows and blood for each meter to the Stargate. Colonel Sheppard fires a few cautious shots from his P90 trying to hold back the crowd and not seriously wound anyone, until he witnesses Dr. McKay take two deep stabs, one to the shoulder, and one to the thigh, dark wet spots staining the fabric of his uniform. He yells something to Ronon, the runner moving to support the fallen scientist, weapons fire momentarily causing the angry mob to pull back monetarily. Momentarily. She is surprised and yet not as the Torulae press forward again, intent on making sure they do not make it to the stargate, willing to bear any cost for this single goal. She hears the cries of familiar voices as people are wounded, becoming momentarily numb as she aims into the crowd trying to prevent their escape. The disconnect ends when she fires a round at Martoc's youngest brother, barely into his teens, and she isn't sure who hurts more from the connecting shot.

Dr. Weir grimaces as they arrive in Atlantis, knowing explanations will come later, after Dr. Beckett has a chance to look them over and tend to their wounds. Fortune has smiled and no one, including Dr. McKay is seriously hurt, despite his complaints to the contrary, physically at least. She isn't sure the physician can fix her heart, despite his soothing words as she sits shuddering on one of the beds, reliving what she just did. Has she really changed that much in the past two years? When did she reach this point – sacrificing the past for a promised future?


End file.
